


Eternity lies in bottomless reservoirs

by cheyennesunrise



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheyennesunrise/pseuds/cheyennesunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set twenty years after the series. John and Harold discuss their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity lies in bottomless reservoirs

**Author's Note:**

> The poetry is from Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself”.

“How long will we keep doing this?” 

John’s voice is as raspy and gravelly as ever, but there is a quaver to it, a weakness.

He’s getting older- they both are.

Harold leans against the bench and eats his ice cream slowly, thoughtfully.

“I’m not sure, Mr. Reese. I suppose that it will have to end sometime,” he says carefully, and his tone is measured, precise. His voice has changed, too- it’s less mysterious, less guarded, but the difference is unnoticeable to the outside world.

Imperceptible.

Harold has spent a lifetime creating new faces, new names, new lives. He’s done it dozens of times, but they all crumble when John is around.

“I always thought that we’d do this forever,” John grins, and Harold looks over and sees the old teasing smile, the sparkle in his green eyes.

“What is forever, really?” Harold says softly, and his words are as light and ephemeral as the January breeze, or the wispy clouds over Washington Square.

“I don’t know, Harold. I don’t know if I want to,” John admits, and he reaches a casual arm around Harold’s shoulder, pulling him close.

“John, don’t-,” Harold protests, and a spot of ice cream falls onto his impeccable Brioni coat. 

He sighs, shooting an annoyed glare at John, but there is laughter in his eyes and forgiveness in his posture.

“Sorry, Harold,” John apologizes, and he flashes that winning smile again. He’s still so beautiful, even at sixty-five. 

Harold’s breath catches, and that warm, familiar ebullience fills his heart.

“It’s ok,” he says softly, brushing the ice cream away with a leather-clad finger.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Harold. We’re still getting the numbers, but we don’t have to stay here in New York. The team can handle it,” John says, and his grip on Harold’s shoulder tightens.

“I would like to supervise them for a few more months at least. Please, John.”

Harold’s voice is a whisper now, an edict, a prayer.

“I don’t want to let go. Not yet.”

John’s expression softens, and he leans closer, pressing his forehead against Harold’s.

“We can leave whenever you’re ready. Just don’t tire yourself out,” he says gently, and Harold can feel John’s mouth moving against his temple.

“I won’t. You should take your own advice, John,” Harold says lightly, and John emits a puff of air as he scoffs.

“Yes, sir,” John laughs, and his hand falls to his side.

He takes Harold’s gloved hand in his own, and they stare at the ice-covered fountain for a while.

The water is frozen solid, petrified by January’s cold grasp, and they watch the students skate pennies across its surface.

“We should leave New York before the ice melts,” John muses, and Harold raises an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t you think it’s a little soon to make that decision, John?”

There is a moment of silence, and then John takes Harold’s other hand.

“Maybe you’re right. I do know one thing, though,” John says slowly.

“What’s that, Mr. Reese?” Harold asks.

“I’m staying with you.”

John’s admission hangs in the frigid air, and Harold’s eyes grow suspiciously wet.

“Forever,” John adds, and he looks Harold in the eye.

Harold purses his lips.

“Mr. Reese, I don’t expect you to-,” he begins, but John squeezes his hand.

“We have thus exhausted trillions of winters and summers; there are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them,” John says, and there is a sparkle in his eye.

“I never took you for a fan of Whitman,” Harold breathes, and John presses a finger to his lips.

“I guess that I’m still full of surprises,” he smiles, and Harold’s heart flutters again.

“Well, I suppose that we have an eternity to find out,” Harold replies, and John’s smile widens.

“Eternity lies in bottomless reservoirs,” John whispers, and Harold catches his lips mid-stanza.


End file.
